


Symbiosis

by Stephquiem



Series: Brain Trust [3]
Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: A Bunch of broken people who need each other, Found Family, Gen, reference to addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-11-09 22:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11114277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stephquiem/pseuds/Stephquiem
Summary: A different sort of family.Or: Four one-shots about a Yeerk-Host relationship that thinks outside the box.





	1. James & Tully

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I don't understand," I said. "There are at least five or six of you."
> 
> "Yes. We share the same partner. They really like the pattern on bandanas for some reason, so they like wearing it to denote when they're present." Nick raised his hands in a sort of "that's how it is" gesture. "Personally, I'd pick something less obvious, but you like what you like, I guess."  
> -From People Like Us, Chapter 12
> 
> Priton may have overstated their number because he is a drama king. Or I changed my mind.

I could see that his windows were rolled all the way down as he pulled up, and though it was quick, I just caught sight of a cigarette butt being flung out the window. I couldn't help smiling a little at that. Tully put on a good show of being the responsible one--and to be fair, he was--but it was nice to remember he was human, too. Or he was this week, at least.

"We're in a drought, you dick," I said by way of greeting as I slid into the passenger seat.

Tully grunted. He was fiddling with the dials on the car's console. Cold air was blowing out of the vents, despite all four windows being rolled down. "How's the leg?"

Instinctively, I rubbed at my knee through my jeans, feeling for the telltale dent of a scar there. "I told you. It's just a phantom pain. There's nothing wrong with it now."

"Uh-huh. Phantom limp, too?"

"Yeah."

Everyone's got their reasons for going voluntary, you know? Some people are lucky and get a sympathetic Yeerk. Some people do it to save their families, though let me tell you, that shit never works out. Some people do it because of what they'll get out of it.

That sounds selfish, right? What could you need so much that you were willing to give up your own bodily autonomy for? To basically betray your whole species?

I wasn't thinking about the whole of humanity, though. I was thinking about how there was a hole in my leg and how I couldn't walk without pain. I think knowing it was from my own stupidity made it worse. You'd think, joining the army in peacetime--I had been _just_ too young to enlist before Desert Storm--would be the best deal. I could trade four years for college tuition, which sounded like a good deal to me. My dad had told me in no uncertain terms that he wasn't wasting his money on me, and although I'd been pretty athletic in high school, I wasn't good enough to get a scholarship that way, and I didn't want to play sports in college, anyway. If I wanted to go, this was the way it was going to happen.

And then six months in, I accidentally shot myself in the leg and that was the end of that.

Out of all of us, I think Tully and I probably spent the most time together uninfested. I think I reminded him of his son, though Tully hardly ever talked about him. If you went to his house, you'd see the picture of a marine in uniform who honestly didn't look much like Tully. On a good day, he might tell you that he looked a lot like his mother, but that was definitely his granddad's nose. Tully didn't talk much about his ex-wife, either, though.

"I'm half-way through that book you gave me," I told him, rolling up my window. The cigarette smell was mostly gone now, and a glance in the visor mirror told me I already looked like I'd been through a wind tunnel. I tried, fruitlessly, to comb it out with my fingers. Oh well. I needed a haircut. 

"Yeah? What d'ya think?"

I made a face. "Why's everything you read so damn political?" 

Tully snorted. "It doesn't hurt to know a thing or two about politics. You don't even watch the news."

"I do too," I said, mock-defensively. "President's banging his interns, right?"

We'd stopped at a light, and I saw Tully close his eyes, like talking to me pained him. I grinned. Tully was fun to goad, mostly because I don't think he really minded it. When we started moving again, Tully said, "Well, I'm sorry you don't like it. We can't all have the literary taste of an English professor."

"Clearly. I thought it was the older generation who was supposed to be into the classics."

We rarely talked about anything really serious, but I don't think we had to. We didn't have to talk about where we were going. Or that Tully needed a cigarette today because it would have been his son's forty-fifth birthday. Or that even though he always said he lost his son in Vietnam, that wasn't strictly true. We also didn't talk about the fact that I had him on speed dial in case I was alone and having a rough night. Or that he drove me because neither of us trusted me to go on my own. Or that, even though I owned a gun, Tully kept it in a safe in his house, because he didn't trust me with that either.

Instead we argued about books and things like whether it was even worth voting in the next election, assuming that was even still a thing in another couple years. Tully was emphatically in favor. I mostly argued against because it flustered him. I used to annoy him by making up answers when he'd ask me who I voted for in the _last_ election--"Ross Perot" or "I wrote in 'Mickey Mouse'" were my favorites--until one day Ravel got fed up with us and said, "For God's sake, it was Clinton. Can you shut up about it now?" Tully had since apologized for not minding his own business, but that didn't stop us from arguing anyway.

All this wasn't to say either of us had a bad relationship with Beth or Nick or Ravel, because we didn't--at least I didn't--they were all just different. Tully was like a cross between a debate partner and the father I wished mine was. It probably would have made him emotional if I told him that, which was why I stuck to the president's sex life and who really wrote Shakespeare's plays--Shakespeare. Duh.

We finally reached our destination, and Tully pulled into a parking spot. The sign out front said it was St. Mark's, but aside from the giant cross on the front, you wouldn't have known it was a church. Going to church on a Thursday. Mom would've been so proud, though maybe not for the reason. Or she'd have died again, just from the shock.

"See you in an hour?" Tully asked. He was twisting around in his seat to grab the book that was on the back seat. 

"Yeah. Want me to bring you back a cookie?"

"I'm trying to watch my figure." He smiled, patting his stomach. Honestly, he looked pretty good for a guy who had to be pushing seventy.

"I think they're oatmeal raisin." When Tully informed me that he'd rather die, I said, "Okay, see you in an hour," and then got out of the car and headed toward the church. I had to go around to the side entrance to find where I needed to be, but sure enough, taped to one of the pillars support the overhang above the side door was a sign "Alcholics Anonymous Meeting" and then an arrow pointing down. Hard to say if it meant it was in the basement or hell.


	2. Nick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This more or less takes place between Chapters 11-12 of People Like Us.

I've always had a thing for locks.

Picking locks is a useful skill to have when you're part of an underground organization, but I'd been fascinated by them since I was a kid. My dad was--probably still is, I guess--a locksmith, and sometimes he'd get a call late at night, on days when my mom had to work a night shift, and he'd take me along with him when he went to help people who got themselves locked out of their houses or whatever. Sometimes I'd sleep in the car. Sometimes I'd do my homework. And sometimes I'd get to stand by and watch him work. "My apprentice," he'd joke to whoever was there, and sometimes you could see the look on the other person's face, like they were trying to figure out if he was serious. Like a nine year old locksmith could totally be a thing.

It's weird how something can make you feel important and not at the same time. I liked feeling like I was helping my dad, but I'd have preferred he swapped "apprentice" for "son." I don't look a lot like my dad--not at first glance, anyway. He's this big burly Greek man with an accent so thick you'd think he was straight off the boat when he's actually been here for forty years. Meanwhile I was dark and small for most of childhood and adolescence before puberty finally decided to show up late, after all my friends had already been through the worst of it. I was the only black kid in Greek school, or at church when we still went. On the bright side, I guess, it meant that when I was seventeen and my dad decided that what we needed more than Jesus were alien brain parasites, I could at least cuss out my new alien overlord in two languages.

I don't know why he did it, or how he stayed voluntary even after watching my mom and I get dragged, kicking and screaming, down the infestation pier. I never got to ask him, and I'm not sure I'd want to know his answer.

Farisk One-Three-Nine-Eight was a paranoid coward who spent most of our four years together bowing and scraping to the whims of vissers who had no problem killing you if you set one toe out of line. He didn't join Brain Trust because of altruism or some desire for peace so much as fear that a mistake he'd made would get him killed when discovered. He lied and told them I was voluntary because it made him look better. The first thing I told them when they saw me alone was that I didn't want Farisk anywhere near me ever again. The funny part, I think, is that I was more useful to them than he was. Cowardice isn't much of a skillset.

If you're going to have a Yeerk, I suppose you're not going to get a better deal than I had. Ravel Five-Nine-Two was all right, but I was also glad to only have them part-time, which I think was a mutual feeling. It's not that they didn't seem to care--they were the one who forced James to go to AA and they've called the cops on Beth's mom's boyfriends before, and they keep secret the things we each want to keep secret, which is harder than you'd think. But I'm also pretty sure they've never fully grasped this human concept we call "humor." Maybe. They've told me before that listening to James and Tully argue makes them long for death, which sounds like an exaggeration, but they were so deadpan about it, it's hard to say.

Even though there were four--technically five--of us to do surveillance, I always ended up being the guy who did the, uh, "collecting." Aside from the fact that I was good at picking a lock, I was, apparently, the patient one. I think that probably says more about the others than it really does about me, though. I suppose I was also the most discreet, too. At least it's easier for me to look innocuous than, say, Tully, who drives a Lexus and I swear wears a suit seven days a week.

Sometimes I feel kind of bad for the recruits, you know? If we're going to the trouble of skulking around their house, work and school, they're usually in a position where they still have a choice. I'm sure they see me as someone there to ruin their lives, but the way I see it, if they've gotten this far they're either a Controller who's had a fit of conscience, or they're a human who knows that aliens are real, and here, and well on their way to making Earth completely theirs. Either way, they're screwed.

I felt distinctly less bad for the ones with involuntary hosts. They were harder to convince, for one thing, because if their host didn't want them once they got to HQ, they ended up in the pool and hoping someone else would be willing to take them on. Most of the ones who are serious get their act together and end up all right, which is good because we'd have a worse overcrowding problem than we already do. The last I checked, Farisk was still unhosted. And still acting like I'd betrayed him somehow. Yeah, okay.

Tonight's query was going to be one of those pains. He got brownie points for being honest about his situation. I guess. But the most frustrating thing about exactly these sorts of situations is that, if the Yeerk decided they didn't want to risk it, there was nothing I could do for the host. Our setup's not the best, but quite a lot of people have made the decision that living in hiding's better than living with a slave master. Maybe once in awhile you'll get someone who wants to stay in that situation, but their reasons are usually personal to them, and there's not a lot I can say about that.

You get to appreciate seedy neighborhoods when you've got my job. It's easier to break into an apartment than it is to break into a mansion in a ritzy neighborhood. People living in gated communities were an untapped resource just because we couldn't get them the "conventional" way. Security seems to work on a bell curve--the worse the neighborhood, the more locks (sensible) people had on their doors. Then it'd even out as places got nicer, only for security to get hyped up again the swankier the neighborhood got. More people with burglar alarms, more people who remembered to turn theirs on. Though the last guy I'd dropped in on had lived in a trailer, some thirty miles out of the city, and he'd had security cameras and definitely-not-legal bear traps on his property, even though there were zero bears in the area. The kind of guy you'd want to team up with in the apocalypse, maybe, since he had so many guns and the ammunition to go with it. A conspiracy nut who'd had his conspiracies confirmed. Still, I was kind of glad he didn't come back with me.

This guy's place wasn't that bad, but I couldn't help feeling like I was doing him a favor by offering him something else. This place was not middle-of-the-road enough to have as lax security as it did.

In all honesty, it was hard not to feel a little put out. It was Sunday night--well, Monday morning, really--and this had been planned for _Friday_. Except Mr. Never-Goes-Anywhere-Or-Sees-Anyone decided that it was the perfect weekend to have a girl over for two whole days. Gross. But I'd seen him return, alone at last, so here we were. 

The apartment was practically pitch black as I entered. The windows faced another building, and even if they didn't, the blinds were closed tight over them. Was this guy a Controller or a vampire? Shaking my head, I moved further into the apartment and--

"Son of a _bitch_!" My shin connected with something hard and wobbly. There was a crash as I hopped around on one leg, hugging my stinging shin and silently cursing Priton Six-Two-Four. I hadn't even met him yet. This was an auspicious start indeed.


	3. Beth

He was trying to be quiet, but I'd already been half-awake when he got up.

I laid on the couch with my eyes closed, listening to James move around the kitchen, trying to link each noise with an action I couldn't see. I thought he was making tea. He always said coffee tasted like death to him, but he needed caffeine in the morning. When I'd complained the first time I stayed over, he'd told me he'd give me five bucks to go to Starbucks but he wasn't wasting his money on a coffeemaker. 

It's always disorienting, waking up somewhere different. The sounds and smells are all wrong. James was _trying_ to be quiet, but he still sounded like an elephant, walking too heavily around his kitchen. His couch didn't smell vaguely of cigarettes like the one at home did, instead it smelled kind of musty, like maybe no one had told James that sometimes you have to clean your upholstery. To be fair, maybe no one had. I wouldn't have thought of it, probably, if a couch wasn't my usual bed.

"Beth?" I heard him shuffling closer. "You up? I've got to go to work soon."

I peeled one eye open to squint up at him. He was standing behind the couch with a mug. I could see the tea bag hanging over the side and "The Sharing" written on it. "Yeah, I'm up." Pulling back my blanket, I rolled into a sitting position. I stood and tried to smooth out my rumpled clothes. They were the same ones I'd been wearing the day before. I hadn't really had time to pack.

"Rough night?" James asked as he headed back into the kitchen, as if the answer wasn't obvious.

"Mom and Brad are fighting again," I said, almost casually. "Hard to sleep through." The apartment I shared with my mom was only one bedroom, so there was no door to hide behind when she and her latest scumbag decided to have a shouting match. "Maybe this'll be the tipping point and she'll throw him out." I shrugged.

When I turned to head into the kitchen, I saw James looking at me with a pained expression. "I thought you said this one was better."

"He is," I insisted. I flexed my hands. "This one's not so handsy." This did nothing to change James' expression, unsurprisingly. He'd been there when Ravel had threatened my mom's last boyfriend. No one really wanted to ask Ravel for details on what they'd done for the Empire before they went "rogue," but according to James they'd been uncomfortably detailed about what they'd do if Jim ever touched me again. My mom still wonders why Jim stopped calling all of a sudden. "It's okay," I continued airily."Only three hundred and twenty-three days 'til I'm eighteen." I didn't know what I was going to do after that. It seemed wrong to take up space at HQ when I didn't need to hide. James' couch was fine to sleep on once in awhile, since it wasn't too far from home, and was actually closer to school, when I went. Maybe I'd stay with Tully. His house was too big for just him, anyway.

James sighed, but let it drop. Instead, he asked, "You want cereal?"

"Sure." I helped myself to a bowl from the cupboard and he got out the milk and the Cheerios. I pulled myself up onto one of the bar stools by the counter that served as the kitchen table. "Do you have work, or you know, _work_ work?"

James snorted. "Which is which?" He tossed me a spoon from the silverware drawer. "The work that pays for this place," he said. "I think Tully's got them today." 

"Oh." I squinted off into the distance, trying to remember the vague schedule we had going. "I thought it was Nick's turn?"

"Nu-uh, he and Tully switched, remember, Tully had that trade show thing he couldn't get out of for work. Or is it  _work_ work?" 

I rolled my eyes. "Is it weird that we talk about a literal assassin like we're divorced parents trying to share custody?"

James made a hacking noise like he was choking on his tea. I waited for it to pass before saying, "That's obviously what they are, right? Guy knows way too much about anatomy for someone who's never had a host who works in medicine." And every now and then you'd see someone who looked like they were going to shit their pants when they heard Ravel's name. Probably more often than you would if you didn't hang around the sorts of Yeerks we did.

"What would a peace faction want with an assassin?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. It's not like we turn people away that often. Even the really shitty people if they're not a liability."

"True." James looked thoughtful. "Though now I'm not going to be able to stop thinking about that, so thanks." He glanced at the kitchen clock. "You going to school today?"

I made a face. "I guess. I have a math test."

"Well, if you eat fast, I'll give you a lift." He drained the last contents of his mug before setting it in the sink. "Otherwise you know where the key is."

"Can we stop for coffee?"

"No."

"Then I'll lock up behind me." I waved him off.

Despite how uneasy it probably made James, I didn't really think there was anything to worry about--I mean, besides all the usual things--because we really did take all sorts. And anyway, who wouldn't want an insurance policy?


	4. Family

**_Tully_ **

There was a phrase I'd always liked--"herding cats"--that I thought summed up my life fairly well. There would probably be something about it on my gravestone, if any of us were lucky enough to have one.

Beth slumped forward across the table dramatically. "Oh my God, where is he, we're going to starve."

"You're not going to starve," I said. We were sitting at one of the picnic tables in HQ's pool area, which was currently in the midst of what some members had lovingly dubbed "the lunch rush," because so many Yeerk members came to feed on their hosts' lunch breaks. Though it was a bank holiday, so many people had the day off, but even so the normal schedule was king. "There is food upstairs if you really can't wait, but he'll be here soon."

Beth looked up and started to say something, but Nick interrupted her. "At least you have options," he said. "Some of us are stuck living on ramen for three meals a day."

"I have offered--" I began blandly, but stopped when I realized neither of them were listening anyway. I shook my head. Children. I was sure they wouldn't appreciate being called that--even if Beth was _legally_ still a child--but the nearest in age to me was James, and he was only twenty-six. Unless you counted Ravel, of course, who could liberally be called middle aged for a Yeerk.

To be frank, I had thought my days of parenting were far behind me. When Ravel and I began our partnership, I'd been all but sure that my life was over, at least figuratively if not literally. Over the course of a year, my wife had left me and I had been laid off from the company I'd worked for since college graduation. My son was dead, and I was looking ahead at my twilight years stretching out before me, cold and lonely and dismal.

The Sharing--and the invasion--were still young in those days, but they promised aid, and all it meant was giving up a little bit of myself. Truly, it was the easiest decision of my life.

I only regretted it sometimes. When Ravel had been recruited by Brain Trust, I'd thought about retiring, of letting them relocate me somewhere. I had a nephew in Salt Lake City who I hadn't seen since the late seventies, but he and his wife sent Christmas cards every year. It might have been nice to get to know them. Let Ravel trade me in for a newer model--or three, as it worked out. Or maybe I'd trade  _them_ in for someone more lowkey. I didn't mind having a Yeerk, really. I liked the company. I didn't like everything--or even most things--that my body had been used for, but I had learned to disconnect myself from the actions my body performed when I didn't control it. Mostly. 

But I'd stayed. I liked feeling needed, and these children who were still novices in this war needed me. And Ravel needed me, because at least I was prepared for anything that needed to be done.

"Sit up," I said to Beth. "Look, here he comes." I raised a hand in the air to make sure we were noticed. I shook my head at the pair of them as they straightened in their seats and started craning their necks to see. Honestly, you'd think they were being starved.

At least they had the grace to not maul James as he huffed to a stop at the table, hands laden with McDonald's. "Next time, one of you's coming with me," he said, dropping the bags he was holding on the table and setting down the tray of drinks next to it. He collapsed onto the bench next to me, looking like he'd run a marathon. Poor baby.

"I said no pickles!"

"Just peel 'em off. Also, you're a moron, the pickles are the best part."

"Is this one mine?" I asked, pulling the last drink from the holder. James grunted in affirmation. I unearthed a straw from inside one of the bags and unpeeled the wrapper while the other three bickered and ate. When I took a sip, though, I made a face. "This isn't diet Coke."

"No, it's iced tea," James said. "That diet shit'll give you cancer. And don't give me that." I had said nothing, only turned in my seat to look at him. "Literally last week you gave me a printout on how all the crap I eat is going to kill me."

I started to point out that that was all well and good, but very much in conflict with his current actions, but Beth piped in, "It's okay, we're probably going to die way before any of that stuff gets us."

I blinked. True, we weren't shy about dark humor around here--it might have been the only thing that kept us all sane--but it seemed a bit heavy for lunchtime. "Beth, please." I didn't miss the scowl James was now shooting at her.

I didn't have to wonder long what that was about, at least, because James volunteered first. "Beth thinks Ravel was an assassin for the Empire."

It took all of my effort not to choke. Even so, I had to fish out a napkin to cough into. James, ever helpful, gave me a hearty thump on the back.

Before I could say anything though, Nick said, "Oh, yeah, that's true."

In unison, three pairs of eyes turned to stare at Nick, who was still patiently dissecting his hamburger. 

"How do you know?" Beth asked. "Did they tell you?"

Nick snorted, only looking up now as he fitted the bun back in place. "Please. No. Farisk was such a paranoid mess, he knew  _every_ assassin in the area. Name, rank, most of their host names even. There are a few out there who were really lowkey. You wouldn't know who they were until they came to kill you. Or you were their superior, I guess." Nick grinned. "Farisk  _hated_ those guys." He shrugged, picking up his burger. "But Ravel was practically legendary among the 'scared shitless about everything' set. They used to say they took out a whole dome ship on their own." 

"That can't be true," I said, keeping my voice measured. No one was actually that good. Still, it occurred to me that Nick had to know more than I had ever realized.

"No, probably not."

"Why would you take up with them if you knew all that going in?" James wondered.

Nick shrugged again. "I had a useful skill. They had a job that needed it. Worked out okay. Even if I got stuck with you goobers." He artfully dodged Beth's elbow as it thrust towards his abdomen. "And I was pretty much fueled by spite at the beginning anyway." We all sat with that for a moment while Nick finally bit into his burger and chewed. "But I mean, if they'd killed anyone  _lately_ we'd have told each other, right?" 

We were silent for a long moment until James finally said, "We ran over a squirrel last month."

"Did they swerve to hit it?"

"Nah, it just ran out in front of us."

Somehow the mention of accidental squirrel murder--squirrel-slaughter?--broke the tension. There was something very wrong with all of us, probably, that we let it go so easily. I imagined they'd have a lot to talk about when it was their turns to take Ravel. At least I was first--I could prepare them.

As we finished eating and began clearing away our garbage, there was a sudden commotion down by the drop off pier. A young woman jerked up from the pool and began screaming. We--and the whole pool--turned to look as the woman batted away the hands of some well-meaning members, screeching "No! You can't let that thing back in my head! Get away from me!" I could spot a familiar blue mohawk bobbing amongst the crowd of heads and grimaced--Lacey and Lindus were two of the nicest people I knew at Brain Trust, but they  _looked_ terrifying, which surely wasn't helping.

James and Nick were half out of their seats, ready to join the fray, but then they settled down again, likely realizing there wasn't much more they could help with. Instead, we watched as the woman broke free of the crowd surrounding her and ran back towards the elevator. I saw Lindus--or Lacey, or both, who knew--walk sedately after her. There was no real hurry. If there weren't people waiting for the elevator, there was a maze of hallways to get through to get outside. Everyone was free to leave at any time, but a panicked involuntary was as dangerous as a Taxxon in an Emergency Room. We heard a wailing cry, and then that faded, perhaps because someone found her.

"Well," I said, after a moment of silence. "On that note. I will see you all later." 

"We really need to work on our family outings," Beth commented.

I smiled a little, despite myself. "Maybe next time we go out for ice cream or something."

I headed toward the infestation pier. There was no such thing as a dull and quiet life when you allied yourself with Yeerks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The downside to writing brief one-shots is that it makes me want to write more for characters I only intended to give snapshots of. Ironically, the character I'm least interested in is Ravel, who connects them all together.


End file.
